Underwear
by victime de la mode
Summary: Song fic to 'Underwear' by Pulp. My first fic. Hermione/Lucius. She didn't mean for it to go as far as it did, it was just a fantasy, a silly crush...


**Song fic to 'Underwear' by Pulp. I don't own the song lyrics or the characters, they belong to Pulp and JK Rowling respectively. I merely use them for my entertainment. Thanks to my beta solas_divided for all her help.**__

_**Why don't you shut the door?**_

_**And close the curtains,**_

'_**cos you're not going anywhere. **_

She stood in the middle of the dimly lit bedroom, taking in her new surroundings, the expensive looking paintings adorning the walls; the antique wardrobes in either corner of the room; the ornate silver serpents attached to the posts of the… _bed. _

She averted her gaze away from the silent torment to the large bay window. She wandered over and stared into the blackness of the night.

"What am I doing?" she asked herself.

She stood perfectly still; transfixed by the darkness before her, in deep thought about the situation she had gotten herself into.

Noises from the party below brought her back to reality. Her nose wrinkled at the thought of all the drunken fools downstairs, with their banal and self-indulgent conversations about nonsense such as who had the purest blood. They sickened her. _He_ sickened her.

Her mind wandered again. It always did when she thought of _him_. She snapped out of her trance, and pulled the velvet green curtains together, blocking her view of the outside world. She allowed herself another sweeping glance of the room, taking in its beauty. And truly it was beautiful. Every piece of furniture was tasteful and exquisite. The room itself, however, felt cold and empty. _Soulless_. She could not imagine this room belonging to anyone, nobody sitting by the window reading a book or messing up the perfect sheets on the bed.

The bed.

She turned her full attention to it. It was grand, completely oversized and, naturally, decked in emerald-green bedding. She stumbled over in her too-high heels, smoothing the wrinkles from her too-short dress as she went. She perched on the edge of the bed, and waited.

_**He's coming up the stairs,**_

_**And in a moment,**_

_**He'll want to see your underwear.**_

Footsteps… of course, she knew who they belonged to. Yet it still came as a surprise when the door swung open and he strode inside. Black robes billowed behind him, long blonde hair framed his face. She involuntarily jumped up from her sitting position on the bed, evoking a low chuckle from him. His cold, piercing grey eyes bore into hers, a smirk played across his lips. She hated when he smirked at her like that. She hated his arrogance, the way he bullied everyone around him, the way he didn't give a damn about anyone but himself. She hated that he was an ex-Death Eater and how he was her boss at the Ministry. She hated _him_. And she hated herself for wanting him.

She tried to forget about him, she really did - at first, anyway. But it was hard, when every time he looked in her direction she blushed a vibrant shade of pink. When he brushed past her a little too close for comfort and her stomach did back flips. Every time he teased and taunted her, she was torn between the urge to hit him or kiss him. She kept telling herself that she would stop feeling like this, that it was only a silly school girl crush. He was horrible. Plus twice her age, married and he hated her almost as much as she hated him. No way would he ever be interested in her.

Ever.

_**You couldn't stop it now.**_

_**There's no way to get out.**_

Although, she was sure he had begun to notice her work skirts becoming shorter daily and how her shirts were becoming tighter, and how she started wearing make-up to work. She had caught him staring enough times from the corner of her eye.

At first, she didn't even know why she was making so much effort. But she was drawn in too far by the time she realised what she had known all along deep down.

Of course, it was all for him.

Her invitation to the party that night had come as quite an unexpected surprise. She had known about the annual Christmas ball as he had given her the task of writing the invitations - anyone who was anyone would be in attendance - but he had simply stated to her two days before the grand event that she would also need to attend. He hadn't asked, or even waited for a reply - he never did. He simply announced she was coming and then left for the day.

She had of course moaned about it to Ginny, how awful it would be to spend a night hob-nobbing with the elitist, Pureblood obsessed Wizarding aristocracy. But she couldn't conceal the secret thrill that she would be amongst all the glitter and fame, and had rushed off to buy a new outfit for the occasion. She had felt sexy and desirable the minute she had found the right dress and shoes. They had been perfect and she had known it would turn a few heads, but it was only one man's attention she wanted in particular, not that she would ever allow him to become privy of this fact.

She didn't feel so sexy or confident standing in the same outfit in his bedroom with his eyes raking over her body, mentally undressing her. She didn't like the feeling of being naked and uncertain before him, but despite that she forced a smile for him. He didn't return the comforting gesture, but approached her and drew his wand. Her body tensed.

_**He's standing far too near.**_

_**How the hell did you get here,**_

_**Semi-naked in somebody else's room?**_

She closed her eyes tight, in fear of what was to come. After a few moments when nothing happened, she opened her eyes to see him draping his dress robes over a leather armchair by the window. She was momentarily confused until she looked down to see that her dress and shoes were gone and she was left in only her underwear.

He walked back toward her, dressed only in a shirt and dress trousers. He didn't touch her but stood so close, she could almost feel his warm breath on her face. She looked into his eyes, her breathing becoming more rapid and shallow by the second. This was the closest she had ever been to a man, well, unless you counted the once or twice she permitted Ron to kiss her back in the day. She didn't count those fumbled moments. It had been nothing like this. His proximity bothered and excited her like nothing else, and it was at that moment she realised she was way out of her depth.

_**Just you, stood there,**_

_**Only in your underwear.**_

At the ball, she had made general chit-chat with the least offensive guests, the few that were happy to talk to a '_Mudblood'_ that is. She could see people staring at her as though she were some unidentifiable creature. It was clearly unusual for a Muggle-born to be invited to such a soiree, especially one blatantly clad in Muggle dress. She had even caught his wife scowling in her direction. Fortunately, his son was nowhere to be seen, and rather unfortunately, neither was he. She found herself talking to some old school acquaintances instead.

"And what are you doing with yourself, Hermione?" they had asked.

She was proud to say she worked at the Ministry, but embarrassed to admit her lowly position was nothing more than a desk clerk to _him_. The great Hermione Granger, a desk clerk. Still, it was a means to an end. She could only go so far up in the world with her seemingly tainted blood.

Suddenly, he was there at her elbow, steering her away from the others guests to face him and him alone. Dressed in robes of black and silver, he considered her with an expression of mock amusement.

"I see you have dressed as inappropriately for tonight as you usually do for work, Granger" he said condescendingly, as he eyed her dress with interest.

_Arrogant bastard. Why does he have to be so hot? _

"I did not realise you objected to my choice of clothing, sir. My apologies" she replied as professionally as she could muster through her tightly clenched teeth.

His eyes seemed to sparkle momentarily before he bent his head towards her, far too close for her peace of mind. She frantically scanned the room, in fear that someone would see and get the wrong - or right - impression. But no one had paid them any attention whatsoever.

"I'm afraid I object to you wearing any clothes at all, Miss Granger," he murmured.

She had never realised how tall he was until that moment, as he stood towering over her. His muscular arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer to him. Dangerously close. Her chest heaved with anticipation.

"Someone could come in" she gasped, barely audible.

"They won't," he replied, sounding quite unconcerned as his hands roamed the bare skin of her back.

"Yes, but what if -?"

"Nobody invited to my home tonight would take it upon themselves to come upstairs and start wandering in and out of rooms," he declared impatiently. "We will not be disturbed."

He barely finished the last syllable before he leaned down, his hair tickled her face as he parted her lips with his tongue, pulling her in for a fiercely passionate kiss.

_**If you could close your eyes**_

_**And just remember,**_

_**That this was what you wanted last night.**_

Her eyes closed as he probed her mouth with his hot tongue. She wanted to pull away and run and yet at the same time, she never wanted that moment to end. Dizziness took over as his hands on her back sent chills down her spine and his kisses electrified her to the core. She was certain that had he not been supporting her weight, she would have collapsed in a heap at his feet. His hands slipped beneath the flimsy material of her bra to pinch a hardened nipple. Never breaking their kiss, he unhooked the clasp of her bra with one hand, and discarded it onto the floor. Pushing her gently backwards, he steered her toward the bed and lay her down. She was all too aware that she was naked bar the tiny French knickers she wore while he was still fully clothed. He positioned himself on top of her and began nipping at the smooth skin of her neck. The reasons they should not be doing this flashed through her mind while he burned her from the inside out.

_Married._

He moved lower, trailing kisses down to her collarbone.

_Ex-Death Eater. _

He stopped to shed his shirt, before continuing where he had left off.

_Twice her age. _

She stared hungrily at his firm body, much more toned than she had expected for a man his age.

_Her boss. _

He arrived at her pert breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth and suckling gently while rolling the other between his thumb and index finger.

_Arrogant dickhead. _

She felt the heat between her thighs intensify.

_Married. _

He removed his hand from her breast and lazily ran a finger down her flat stomach to the hem of her panties.

_Again, married._

He yanked them down roughly and parted her legs with his knee.

_Still married. _

The scent of her arousal filled the room as he reached between them and entered a digit into her dripping cunt. Finding her swollen clit immediately, he began lightly tracing circles. She let out a soft cry and unconsciously stretched her legs wider. He picked up rhythm and she arched her back desperate for more contact. He obliged, allowing his finger to explore her cunt while his thumb took over the ministrations of her clit. She had fantasised about this moment for months and he did not fail to live up to her expectations.

_But it shouldn't be like this, not with his wife just downstairs. _

Her body was on fire as she experienced feelings that she could only dream of and it became increasingly difficult to form a coherent thought.

_This is what you want, this is what he wants. Just enjoy it. _

He suddenly removed his fingers, causing her to writhe beneath him at the loss of contact.

_**So why is it so hard,**_

_**For you to touch him?**_

_**For you to go and give yourself to him?**_

He pulled back. The short break ignited the internal battle she faced. He began to remove his trousers. She unconsciously held her breath as she watched him as he slid them over his hips and kicked them to the ground. His boxer shorts came off next and he was pleased to hear her inward gasp as he released his straining cock from its confines. Her gasp, however, was due to nerves more than excitement at his size. True, she had expected it to be marginally bigger than average, although she had never seen another in the flesh to compare it to. But no, she fretted about the pain she was sure would follow. She wondered if he knew she was a virgin. She wondered if he cared. This was not what she had imagined for her first time. He positioned himself between her open legs.

_Too late. _

She gazed into his lust filled eyes, offering him an almost pleading look to be gentle. If he saw the fear shimmering in her eyes, he chose to ignore it, diverting his gaze elsewhere. It seemed like an eternity before he plunged into her, breaking her barrier in one quick, sudden movement. She almost shrieked in pain at his unnecessarily violent thrust. She managed to stay silent, although her bitten lip and watery eyes betrayed her pain. In a show of remorse, he began planting feathery light kisses upon her shoulder and stayed still inside her for several seconds, allowing the pain to subside and her body to adjust to his size. She chose to believe it was remorse, anyway. He began to pick up rhythm. Again, she thought of his wife. His poor, unsuspecting, wife downstairs who had no idea her husband was bedding another woman in her own home. In her own bed no less. Unease settled in her gut at the thought.

Her pain dulled a little. He ran his hands over her breasts, roughly massaging them as he pumped in and out of her. She began to feel the heat rush back between her legs. Reaching between them, he captured her clit once more between his fingers. For the first time, she flings her arms around his neck, holding on tightly as he stimulates her. The pleasure and pain combination was almost enough to send her over the edge. His thrusts became more frantic into her tight cunt as he struggled to control himself. His heavy grunts amplified in her ear. Her fingers tangled in his long hair, her thighs clamped around his hips as he pounded mercilessly into her. For a second, she forgot that what they were doing was wrong. The lines between love and hate were so blurred she didn't recognise either anymore. All that mattered was the two of them… together.

She cried out when the wave of her orgasm took over, making her body shake like never before.

"Say my name" he growled, nearing his own release.

She chanted his name over and over again, unashamed and in such bliss she wondered if she would ever return to Earth. Upon hearing her strangled voice calling his name, he exploded into her with one last powerful motion. She watched him as he came, his head lulled back and his eyes screwed closed. He moaned into the darkness almost as loudly as she had done. He collapsed on to her chest and they both lay panting in the silence. It was odd to see him in such a vulnerable state, to lose control. She felt a strange sense of empowerment that she had done that to him.

It took no time for her to become aware of the music and conversation coming from downstairs. After a few minutes of lying in silence, he pushed himself up and proceeded to dress.

Back to reality.

_**You couldn't stop it now,**_

_**There's no way to get out.**_

And that was how it all began. At first, she promised herself that she would put an end to it, but after another one of their encounters it would quickly be forgotten. He was like a drug. She knew it was wrong yet she kept going back for more. But as the months passed, it became easier to cheat. When she was with him, she would push the guilt out of her mind with the classic justification: _"If he was happy with her then he wouldn't cheat."_ This would work, for a while. But when alone, the guilt ate away at her. She was in too deep, the damage was already done. They never talked about his wife. She had tried to bring it up once or twice, but it was made clear she was a subject off limits.

Little changed in the workplace. He expected to have her whenever and wherever he fancied, his desk; her desk; against the wall; on the floor. They have had sex in every corner of that office. Occasionally, he offered intelligent, stimulating conversation and they managed to have a discussion that didn't end in argument. She liked those rare moments the most. But he still teased and taunted her constantly. His opinions, on the whole, still repulsed her. He showed her no love or affection, not even when in those tender moments of love making. She cried his name every time she came without fail wishing that, just once, he would call hers back. He never did.

_**He's standing far too near,**_

_**How the hell did you get here;**_

_**Semi naked in somebody else's room?**_

She often pondered what could have been, if she had stayed away from the ball that night. She always came to the same conclusion: that it would have happened anyway. He was a man who got what he wanted and he had obviously decided that he wanted her. Of course, the blame couldn't be solely placed on his shoulders. She was a more than willing participant. She gave in to his every wish. She lived and breathed him. He didn't talk to her about his problems and the goings on in his life, but she tried to offer support and advice when she felt he needed it. He offered emotionless, detached, animalistic sex in return. But that was okay. She knew no differently. All she knew was that when she was with him, he made her feel complete. He filled her up. And sometimes, that was enough.

_**Just you, stood there.**_

_**Only in your underwear.**_

She was not proud of it, but then again, she wasn't the stereotypical 'other woman'. When he left her bed late at night, to return home, she would always find herself on the floor, sobbing herself hoarse, naked save for her underwear. His scent lingered on her body and she could still feel the place his fingers had gripped her hips. She would cry herself to sleep at the impossible situation she was in. How awful to love someone you could never fully have. A silly crush that shouldn't have went any further, which turned into a full blown affair. A crush that spiraled out of control. A young, naïve girl who let her feelings for him cloud her judgement. Just a girl in way over her head and a man who took advantage of her naivety.

She did not delude herself with visions of marriage and babies. She knew he had no intention of ever leaving his wife for her. She knew he didn't love her, that he merely used her for his own satisfaction. But that didn't stop her from loving him. She used to pity Narcissa, for being a fool, not knowing where her husband really was, for falling for his deception. But every day, he went home to her. Every time he left her bed in a hurry, it was Narcissa he rushed home to. It was Narcissa who bore his name and gave him a child. And it was Narcissa he loved. She knew that. She realised it was her who was the biggest fool in all this. And the worst part was that she continued to allow him to use her, because being used by him was preferable to not having him at all. You can't choose who you fall in love with. The last person Hermione Granger ever wanted to love was Lucius Malfoy.


End file.
